Slim Runs Amok
by Saddletramp
Summary: Slim Sherman was described as 'straight as a rail with no bend on the edges'. But every man has a his breaking point – that moment when the world overwhelms him. What happens when the dependable and straight-laced Slim Sherman runs off the rails?


SLIM RUNS AMOK

Slim Sherman was described as 'straight as a rail with no bend on the edges'. But every man has a his breaking point – that moment when the world overwhelms him. What happens when the dependable and straight-laced Slim Sherman runs off the rails?

CHAPTER ONE

His own snoring awakened the blond-haired Slim Sherman. Lying face down on the pillow, his mouth felt thick and fuzzy, much like his foggy brain, and his arms were heavy as fence posts. Groaning, he turned over onto his back, wondering why his bed was so uncomfortable. It slowly dawned on him that his feet were protruding beyond the end of the bed and the creaking sound the bed made when he moved was unfamiliar.

Opening an eye, he frowned at how the light was so dim in the room he shared with his partner, Jess Harper. If it was daylight – even early daylight – he and Jess should have had the barn chores done by now. Where was Jess anyway? Certainly, Jess hadn't let him sleep in. Where were the familiar sounds of the stove being stoked, the smell of breakfast cooking? Coffee. He could smell coffee brewing. At least that part seemed right.

Slim started to sit up, only to grab his aching head and sink back down into the flattened pillow. Man that must have been some bender he'd tied on last night. He didn't remember drinking. Jess must have hauled him home afterwards. Maybe Jess was being quiet in deference to his hangover. Yes, that must be it. Good ole, Jess; he could depend upon Jess. He wondered again just where Jess was.

He turned his head to the side, immediately sorry for the small movement. A thousand Indian drums were beating in his head. Cautiously opening one eye again, he looked around before groaning deeply. Steel bars surrounded him. The dim light illuminating his cell came from a tiny window set high in the wall.

Still groaning, he attempted to sit up again, immediately regretting the decision, although this time he remained upright. Dang, he wasn't at home. He was in jail. He wondered what he had done to cause Mort to arrest him. His memory was a complete blank regarding the previous evening. He gingerly touched the sore spot at the back of his head, wincing at its tenderness. He wondered who had clobbered him. About then his foggy brain registered the various painful areas along his jaw as well as his sore knuckles. Obviously he'd been in a fight – one he didn't remember.

As his eyes focused, he took in the details of his surroundings. A strange coldness crept over him as he realized he was not in the Laramie jail. He'd worked with Mort enough times and spent a few regrettable nights as the Sheriff's guest, to know every inch of the jailhouse. Raking a hand through his hair, he wondered where he was – what town – and what he had done to cause his arrest.

CHAPTER TWO

He was still sitting on the edge of the cot, head in hands braced on his knees, when the Sheriff came through. The Sheriff did not attempt to move quietly, making determined footsteps, slamming the door open and jangling the keys loudly. He grinned knowingly when Slim merely canted his head, one eye open, yet he held out a cup of coffee for Slim to take.

"I'm Sheriff Wagner." He said introducing himself. "Figured you might need this."

Slim nodded his thanks while cautiously sipping the hot liquid.

"Your fine's $10.00 and restitution for the bar bust up is another $10.00. You got that much on you?"

Slim checked his shirt and vest pockets before leaning against the wall behind his bunk. Straightening out his long legs,he dug down into his pockets, bringing out a paltry $5.00. Shaking his head, he showed the Sheriff his cash.

"Sorry, son. Looks like you're going to have to work it off. Going rate is a dollar a day so that'll take you 15 days of work to get yourself out of here. Or, you can keep your $5.00 and do a full 20 days of work. It's up to you. Don't care one way or the other." He turned to go, before Slim called out after him.

"Where am I? What'd I do to land up in here?" He questioned.

The Sheriff laughed before answering. "Wow. You must have really tied one on. Son, you're in Santa Fe, New Mexico. And as to what you did, well, you were just dumb enough to take up with Marilita. Don't blame you none, she was all over you from the time you set foot into the bar – and she sure is good looking. She has this thing for blondes." He added. "Oh, Hell, what am I saying? She has a thing for any man who ain't her husband. Problem is, her husband came home and didn't care for you being in his bed. Gotta say, you held your own pretty good until someone clubbed you over the head – then it was lights out for you."

Slim stared at the Sheriff, a slight flush creeping up his neck. He was shocked hearing he had taken up with a married woman. Actually, he was shocked to discover he had taken up with a woman he had just met – at least he thought he had just met her. That wasn't his style – not at all. And, what the hell was he doing in Santa Fe?

"Can I send a telegram? My partner will wire me the money."

The Sheriff laughed again. "What do you think this is - a charity? All you got is that $5.00 and its going to pay for the damages. You got nothing and the town ain't spotting you any on the chance you can make good. No sir got burned on that once too often. If you ain't got no one in town, then you're on your own. Breakfast is at 8:00. Chain gang leaves at 8:30. You'll get fed lunch and when the work day is over, you'll be brought back here for the night. That'll be your routine for the next 15 days. We treat our prisoners right and when their time is up, they're let go. Mind your manners and you'll be out of here in no time. Once you're set free, since you're broke, you'll have to find a job or leave town – immediately. We don't cotton to no vagrants here."

CHAPTER THREE

The Sheriff's words echoed in his mind. Prisoner. Sure, he'd spent a night or two in jail, but prisoner sounded so – so final - long term - a sick label that painted him with the same paintbrush as a convicted criminal and a stink he couldn't wash off. The Sheriff had also said he'd be on a chain gang. The very words made Slim shiver. Not that he'd ever experienced being on one, but he had heard stories of how awful they were – how badly the prisoners were treated and how odious the work was. The Sheriff had seemed easygoing enough. Maybe he had lucked into a decent sort of punishment for his miscreant behavior. He still didn't remember the incident itself, finding it lost in the blur of a time and space his mind couldn't reach.

With no options available to him, Slim swallowed the lump in his throat as the metal shackle snapped shut around his ankle, joining him to the other five men in the work detail. Like the others, he picked up the length of chain between him and the next man. Head down, he followed the armed guard's instructions, awkwardly climbing into the wagon which would carry them to their assigned areas.

As the wagon pulled away from the jailhouse, Slim happened to catch some movement in the saloon across the street. With a jolt, he recognized the woman as Marilita, but it was all he could recall. She leaned languidly against one of the uprights. She was clad in chiffon nightgown and robe which barely kept her decent. The robe was open, revealing a deep plunging neckline exposing her well-endowed assets. A leg, bare from thigh to toe, had freed itself from the draped cloth. To the casual observer, she was filing her painted fingernails. In reality, her eyes were fixed upon the tall blond she hungered for. It was one time she was unhappy her husband had come home early. She liked this one and was sorry he had ended up on the sheriff's chain gang. But not sorry enough to pay his fine with the money she had liberated from his pockets the previous evening. Her husband joined her on the sidewalk. His hands roamed her body suggestively and possessively as he nuzzled her neck, heedless of it being broad daylight and in public view. When she saw Slim watching her, she gave him a smoldering, come hither look before responding wantonly to her husband. Her deep throat-ed laugh mocked Slim as the wagon drew out of sight.

The sun was hot and the work hard, but they were treated reasonable as long as they did what they were told. One of the men had tried bucking the orders and been pistol whipped for his defiance. An exhausted Slim returned to his cell every night, often falling asleep before being served supper. His hands were rough, raw, and calloused, unused to working without gloves. He lost weight, trimming down his already trim body until his clothes were loose on him. However, he slept the sleep of the dead, his worries forgotten in the bliss of nighttime oblivion.

It was the daytime which caused him the most torment. As the days worn on, he kept trying to remember why he had left his ranch in Laramie and was two states away. It was another shock to his system to discover he had been gone from his beloved ranch for over a month. What in the world could have made him leave? More importantly, why hadn't he gone home? And the thought still dogged him – where was Jess? He was the one always going after Jess. Had he left to help Jess? Did Jess need him? Why wasn't he there for his missing partner? The answers wouldn't come to him, the gap in his memory sealed behind a wall he couldn't penetrate.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nothing had sounded better to Slim Sherman than the jangle of keys turning in the cell door lock for the last time. He was free to go. But where could he go? He had no money. Alamo had been stabled at the county's expense and would have to be removed from the stable today. He hadn't looked in a mirror but was pretty sure he looked a sorry sight. Being that he couldn't stand his own stench, he knew he needed a bath in the worst way. He'd be glad to retrieve his things from the livery. The Sheriff hadn't allowed him a razor and he really wanted to get rid of the two-week's growth covering his face.

Mr. Myers, the livery owner took pity on the woebegone cowboy who appeared to claim the big chestnut horse. The horse nickered at his owner, anxious to feel a familiar hand petting him.

"That horse has been jumpier than a cat ever since being stabled here. Glad to see you claiming him. He sure calmed down fast when he saw you."

Slim stroked his horse's neck appreciatively. "Yeah." He said. "We've been through a lot together. Had him since he was a colt. Trained him myself. He's a good cow horse too."

"You looking for a job?" Myers asked.

Slim chuckled. "Kind of obvious isn't it? Either I get a job or leave town tonight – sheriff's orders."

Myers nodded. "Kinda figured that seeing as you've been his guest the last few days. You look like you can handle yourself around horses. How about you stick around and work for me at least until you get yourself a grubstake?"

"That sounds mighty good to me." Replied Slim. Details were hashed out and the men shook hands on the deal. Handing Slim a few coins, Myers sent him off to get cleaned up and a decent meal in his belly. The jail's food rations had been adequate, but weren't near enough for Slim's large frame and the work he was required to perform.

Slim languished in the hot water until it began to turn cold. Washed, shaved, clean clothes, and a good meal, made him feel like a new man. He only had a couple changes of clothes with him so he'd have to seek out the laundry. First, he'd have to earn some money so he could pay to have his clothes cleaned. He figured if nothing else, he'd go down to the local stream and wash them himself. He didn't relish the task but knew he had to do what he had to do.

Even as he worked, he longed to head home. However, without any money, he couldn't even wire Jess to let him know where he was. He continued to wonder whether he was supposed to be looking for Jess or if it was the other way around. Thinking about it only gave him a headache. He had no choice but to hang out in Santa Fe until he had enough money to stake himself for the journey home.

Mr. Myers made space for Slim to stay in the tack room. He brought in a cot, bedding, and towels for Slim, apologizing that the bed would be a few inches too short for Slims 6 ft 3-inch frame. Slim figured any bed not inside the jail was a great bed to have. He was thankful for the job, meals, and accommodations Mr. Myers provided.

Slim slept fitfully. Images kept popping into his dreams only to disappear before he could get a grasp on them. It was like trying to latch onto wisps of smoke. Tossing and turning, he couldn't get the picture of a burning barn out of his mind. Each night a different image presented itself until one night they gelled and he was able to put together the missing pieces of his memory.

He rolled onto his stomach, burying his head in his arms as he fought back the bitter despair he felt. Sadness overwhelmed him until he could hold it no more and the tears finally burst forth – tears he had held back for far too many years. Tears over the death of his parents, seeing Jonesy and Andy leave for St. Louis, the stress over being head of the household, knowing every decision he made affected more people than himself, Daisy's passing and Mike's leaving for school. Time had taken its toll on him and it now ripped open his soul, baring it to every loss and every mistake he'd ever made. Now he knew why he was so far from Laramie and why he could never go home again. There was nothing left there for him. The barn had burned to the ground, the out buildings damaged beyond repair and even parts of the house had suffered. The fire had been the last straw – the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

The day had started out bad to begin with. He had been worrying about paying the overdue mortgage. One of the stage horses had kicked him, leaving a nasty bruise. The pitchfork broke when he was using it. He'd almost fallen out of the hay mow. He dropped the wagon tongue on his foot. One of the mustangs broke out of the corral, taking the stage horses with him. It had taken Slim over an hour to catch them and bring them back for the stage run. The bracket holding the water barrel over the shower broke, causing it to fall and bust up part of the shower unit. A fox had gotten into the hen house and absconded with several of the birds. When he had angrily smacked the upright holding the porch roof, it slid out of place and part of the roof fell, slamming him against the house.

He'd opened the mail only to find the thirty-day notice from the bank. If he couldn't catch the mortgage up, he'd lose the ranch. Another envelope contained both a bill and notice from the General Store stating they'd be extending no more credit until payment was received. The same mail contained a second demand for payment for Mike's another letter informed him of a delay in the stage line's monthly payment.

He was thankful Andy had graduated and begun his career. He had sold Jess his half of the ranch, so this wouldn't affect him. However, he and Jess had promised Mike the same schooling and, with his partnership, he had extended an unspoken promise for the ranch to be Jess' forever home. His responsibility weighed heavily on him. He was sure the cattle Jess was off selling wouldn't even touch half of the bills coming due, let alone all of them. Jess had agreed that selling a small portion of their breeding stock was worth trying in order to save the ranch. They were broke and it was his fault. He had made the decisions which were now costing them everything they owned.

He knew he couldn't pay the bills in the allotted time. If he paid the mortgage, Mike couldn't continue his schooling. If he paid Mike's schooling bill, he couldn't cover the mortgage – and they would lose the ranch. No matter what solution he tried to present, he just couldn't find the answer. It was then he had smelled smoke. Running outside, he saw every rancher's greatest fear realized – barely missing the ranch, a prairie fire swept across the lower meadow, rushed along by a strong wind. Horrified, he watched as glowing embers blew into the hayloft, setting the barn afire. He was alone and battled fiercely to save the building until the heat beat him back and he had to concede defeat. Spent; mentally, physically, and emotionally empty, he sunk to his knees in utter despair. It was gone. Everything his parents had entrusted to him and everything he had worked for his entire life was gone. He had failed everyone – Mike, Jess and even himself. He single handedly had destroyed all three of their lives. His frustration and anger overcame him and he let loose – swearing, ranting at the universe, throwing, or smashing anything he could latch onto, upsetting tables and chairs, finally destroying his and Jess' sleeping quarters.

His soul empty, he was a man in a trance as he packed a few belongings, mounted Alamo and rode away from his life. The further he rode, the less real the loss felt; the less real his entire life felt. His life had been a lie. He'd put everything into the ranch and yet it wasn't enough. He had nothing left. He tried not to think of his yesterdays and couldn't even contemplate any tomorrows. He didn't feel anything anymore. He rode with no intent or purpose other than to leave Laramie as far behind him as possible. He lived day to day, making do since he didn't have much money on him. He couldn't transfer money from the bank – there wasn't anything in the account. He'd pulled the last of it to send for Mike's tuition and refused to spend it for his own comfort. He stopped in one of the towns he passed and sent the payment for Mike's schooling.

Maybe by the time the tuition was due again, he'd have found a solution. He 'd make sure Mike was taken care of – that's the least he could do. But he could never go back. Whatever the answer might be, it no longer laid at the Sherman-Harper Ranch. For the first time since his parents had died, he had no responsibilities. He felt bad about leaving Jess in the lurch, but he also knew Jess could take care of himself.

A marginal poker player, Slim was able to win enough money to stable Alamo and occasionally buy a night in a hotel. With no responsibilities and no one to answer to, Slim ate and drank how and when he chose. Attracted by the blond cowboy's firm body and good looks, there was no shortage of ladies offering him nighttime comfort. Some mornings he couldn't remember where he was or in whose bed he had slept. He didn't care. He rarely stayed in one place more than one night anyways.

Thus, his drifting continued day after day until he had encountered Marilita. Oh, she was gorgeous. Her waist length black hair loosely tied at the nape of her neck, a sharp contrast to her white skin. Her peasant style blouse pushed off her shoulders, tantalizingly suggestive of what lay beneath the vibrant cloth molded to her body. She had soft, inviting lips that begged to be kissed and eyes a man could get lost in. Marilita could make any man's blood run hot. She knew it and took advantage of it, garnering gifts, jewelry, and money. She only allowed the 'special ones' to accompany her upstairs. The locals knew better. They knew she was married to a very jealous man – one who had no qualms about killing anyone who did more than look at Marilita. Nevertheless, the town was a growing community, which attracted many new people day in and day out. Marilita delighted in selecting her next companion from the throngs of newcomers. She didn't worry about her husband; he liked the money and gifts she brought home. He even encouraged her flirtations, which stripped a man of his senses so that he showered her with everything he owned, including his last dime, while receiving nothing in return. However, sometimes one came along whom Marilita could not resist and had to have. She always made sure her husband was out of town when she indulged in her desires. Then again, he sometimes came home sooner than expected. When that happened, well, it was just too bad for the one who had accepted her invitation to go upstairs.

CHAPTER FIVE

Slim swiped a hand across his eyes, wiping them dry. He tried to calm his breathing as he stared into the empty nighttime darkness. So that was it – the reason he'd left Laramie behind him – and the reason he couldn't go back. Oh – and Marilita – she had been worth the head cracking he'd suffered, along with the time on the chain gang. He'd have to move on, knowing that if he stayed, she'd tempt him with her charms. Even knowing she was married and a schemer, she enchanted him. She might even be worth tempting fate again.

Idly, he wondered whether Jess would try to track him. He'd left a good two or three days before Jess' expected return. He hadn't left any trail except maybe when he had mailed Mike's tuition payment. However, he also knew how tenacious Jess was when he set his mind to it. If Jess wanted to find him, he would. He knew Mort would help Jess by sending out wires to surrounding towns. He hoped those telegrams hadn't reached this far away. He consoled himself with the knowledge Jess carried money from the cattle sale. He would be well funded for setting out on his new life.

CHAPTER SIX

There wasn't much left from his first payday, but Slim was pleased. The job at the livery was going fine, he'd paid Mr. Myers back, and still had money left to buy himself a drink. He purposely avoided the saloon where Marilita worked. He wasn't sure he could resist her charms.

While drinking his beer, he studied the bar patrons. They were a mixed group, mostly drifters. Working at the stable, he had heard of the Circle M, owned by Matt Marlin about 10 miles outside of town. He was hoping to run into one of their men to see if they were hiring. He wanted to spend his days on horseback, not pitching hay or cleaning stalls. He missed the open spaces and cattle. He laughed to himself. He had always teased Jess about the Big Open. Now he understood. Once you'd experienced it, it got a hold of a body; calling to it. Being hemmed in by city streets and buildings just didn't compare. No, Slim wanted to breathe the open air again and was determined to get signed on at the Marlin place.

He casually eyed the man who had just entered the bar. He was a tall man, as tall as Slim, and carried himself with an air of authority. Aha, thought Slim, this is Theo Douglas; foreman for the Circle M. Slim let Theo tuck into his drink before approaching and introducing himself. Instead of shaking Slim's hand, Theo callously looked him up and down as if scrutinizing breeding stock. It made Slim uncomfortable.

"You got experience?" Theo finally asked, breaking off his scrutiny and taking another sip of his drink.

"Yes, sir. Used to own my own spread."

"Used to?"

"Ya, fire put me out of business so I moved on. I can drive a four up, fix fence, herd cattle and been on my share of cattle drives."

"Can you run a chuck wagon?"

"Not a lick. Your drovers would quit the first night out if they had to eat my cooking."

Theo laughed at that, slapping Slim on the back and pouring him a drink. "I like an honest man. Don't need a cook. Just wanted to see what you'd say. Don't trust a man that can do everything. Pay's $30/month and found – includes your horse but you can also ride anything in the remuda if you've got the notion. When can you start?"

"I need to set things right with Mr. Myers but I'll be able to start come Monday."

Theo nodded his agreement. "Good enough." He said. "I'll see you at first light, ready to ride."

"Yes, sir." Slim answered, pleased he had acquired the job he sought. As he finished his drink, he couldn't help wondering how he was going to fare taking orders from someone else. He'd been his own boss, owner of the ranch since his early twenties. Then again, he'd been in the army and taken orders without thinking twice about it – so figured he'd make out just fine.

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Theo stepped outside the ranch bunkhouse on Monday morning, he was pleased to see his new hand leaning against the building, ready to work. He showed Slim inside, having him select a bunk and storing his gear. They spent the rest of the day wrangling cattle. Slim was dirty and tired when they called it quits for the day. He was looking forward to his evening meal and stretching out for the night. He knew he'd sleep well after the grueling day he'd put in. Sleep was the only time he could forget about leaving his ranch back in Laramie.

Slim took his place in line with the other cowhands. Just after he received his plate of food, the wrangler behind him jostled him, causing him to drop his plate. The wrangler snickered as he walked away. Retrieving his plate, Slim tossed it into the dirty dish bin and got himself a new one. He was just about to receive his new plate of food when he was bumped from behind again. Slim was ready and retaliated instantly, decking the cowhand before he realized what was happening. Slim calmly retrieved his plate for a second time and waited patiently for the cook to fill it. He then proceeded to the table, his body language and looks letting everyone know he'd tolerate no more of being hassled. Except for Lem Stevens, the cowhand he had decked, everyone gave him a wide berth after that. The new guy could handle himself and had earned their grudging respect.

Slim had a hard time getting used to sleeping in the bunkhouse with the twenty other cowhands. He was used to Jess' snoring and the familiar sounds of the house and the ranch itself. Here, there were new sounds and a lot of different snoring in various decibels. He had a top bunk from which his feet extended and he just couldn't seem to get comfortable.

Mornings found a semi-grumpy Slim joining the rest of the crew for breakfast. No one messed with him or his gear, although he could feel several pairs of eyes watching him. He held his own through the work of roping and branding calves.

Days flowed one into another and before he knew it, he had been at the Circle M a month. He'd made friends with some of the hands, although he felt it was just surface friendship. They'd watch each other's backs during work, but none were any he would ride the trail with. There was a gnawing in his gut telling him not to trust any of them too far. Sadly, he remembered how he could, and had, trusted Jess with his life more than once. He wondered where Jess was, what he was doing. Had he moved on? Had he found another job? Slim hoped, after all their years together, Jess had not gone back to selling his gun. If he had, Slim knew it was his fault for creating the circumstances forcing his friend back into that lifestyle.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Slim sat at the poker table with the other Circle M cowboys. He kept looking over to the corner of the saloon. A man sat there, his back to him, wearing a black vest and hat, unruly dark hair visible beneath the brim. With a start, Slim thought it was Jess. Then he realized it couldn't be – Jess would never sit with his back to the center of the room. His days on the run had instilled a self-preservation mentality in his former partner – meaning he always sat facing the room. There was no way this man was Jess, but it still gave him pause. Jess just might be around – especially as there were rumors of a range war brewing. Lance McDougal had moved into the area and had made it known he was set on taking over the Marlin range.

Unable to concentrate on the game, Slim folded his hand, content to sip his beer while watching the others play. As he looked around, he began to realize the bar was full of cowboys he didn't recognize. He'd come to know most of the other hired hands on the various ranches. These men were new – at least to him. They were different than the average range hand. They were a rougher looking bunch. They moved with an arrogant authority, confident they could out shoot, out ride and out fight anyone who got in their way – and the way they wore their guns told Slim they were most likely hired guns. Slim knew he was good with a gun, but he had never even come close to matching Jess' speed on the draw. He figured it would be the same with these men if it ever came down to a gunfight. Perhaps that is why everyone gave the men a wide berth, which only added to their arrogance.

CHAPTER NINE

Slim started noticing oddities when he was out on the range. Head counts weren't matching up to the tally sheets. More days passed and Slim witnessed more things going wrong on the range. There were times when Marlin's men weren't where they were supposed to be. Sometimes he thought he saw McDougal's men riding the Marlin range. Occasionally, just on the horizon, he'd swear he saw a rider sitting a small bay; just sitting there, watching him. Before he'd get a chance to check it out, the rider would be gone. It was eerie how the rider moved like a ghost, always making him second-guess whether he'd actually seen anything or not.

Tension was rising as Marlin's men began reporting the things they saw or felt while out doing their chores. All were reporting missing cattle – a few here and a few there. Enough to notice but not enough missing to think cattle rustling was going on. Yet, it seemed to become an everyday occurrence. They were all getting jumpy – reporting feeling like they were being watched yet seeing no one. Then the men began finding dead stock. Water holes were poisoned. Riders were shot at, but none was hit; apparently, the intent was to make them nervous. Riders now rode in shifts, covering the ranch 24 hours per day; their sole job to protect Marlin's cattle and land holdings.

Men would go missing, only to be found later, severely beaten and left out on the range. Theo ordered all riders to ride in pairs. The war was heating up and yet they had nothing to go on and no one to blame for the things happening.

CHAPTER TEN

It had been another long and hot day. Slim was agitated at having found more cattle missing and Alamo continually acting up for no apparent reason. Theo had been Slim's riding partner that day. Theo had moved on down the fence line, keeping within sight of Slim – that is until Theo rounded a stand of trees and Slim found a break in the fence they were inspecting.

Slim stepped down to fix the section of downed fence. Alamo's head shot up, ears pricked and nickered at an approaching horse. Slim looked up to be staring down the barrel of Jess' revolver as he sat, arms crossed over the saddle horn, but the barrel never wavering from Slim's chest. Slim couldn't help noticing it was Jess' gunslinger weapon – the one from the hidden compartment in the fireplace.

"Jess!" Slim acknowledged his former partner.

"Sherman." Jess acknowledged, his features hardened, his voice icy. "Toss your gun away. We got some talkin' to do and I don't relish you trying to be a hero for your boss." Slim reluctantly did as ordered.

"What are you doing here?"

"Better question would be what are you doing here?" There was no mirth in Jess' voice. His features never softened nor was there any warmth in his voice. "Real nice reception I got when I got home." He said bitterly, emphasizing the word "home". "Place a shambles and abandoned, bank accounts empty – and you just disappearing without a word to anyone." Jess sat up, his gun still never wavering as he thumbed back the hammer. If it were possible, his voice was even colder with a hard edge to it as he spat out. "And what about the boy? Did you even think of him? Or did you abandon him like you did me and the ranch?"

Slim hung his head. "I used the last of our money to send his tuition. He'll be taken care of for the next few months. By then I'll have worked something out." He looked up at Jess. "I couldn't walk away from him - no matter how bad things were. No, Jess, I'll still take care of him."

There was a tone in Jess' voice which Slim had never heard before. It was raw emotion mixed with anger and something more; something Slim didn't immediately identify. "How? Keep him at school the rest of his life? He's got no home, Slim. We promised that boy a forever home and now he's got nowhere to go back to. He's lost his home and his family for a second time. How ya gonna fix that?"

"He'll come here, be with me."

"Like Hell, he will. I'm taking him. I'll take care of him; give him a new home. He ain't never gonna feel what it's like to have nowhere to go; nowhere to call home." Jess eased the hammer closed and holstered his gun. Turning Traveler as he prepared to ride off, he looked back down at Slim. "You abandoned him so you got no rights. I came here to kill ya, Slim. Not today, not tomorrow, and maybe not the next day - but one day I will. You're gonna pay for what you did to me and that boy." Before Slim could answer, Jess put spurs to Traveler and galloped off across the meadow.

If Slim thought he'd felt empty before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. His best friend had just sworn to kill him. The threat paled in comparison to Jess' taking Mike away. His heart was already broken, but this was a knife eviscerating him. He was still staring after Jess when Theo rode up.

"You know him?" Theo asked.

"Ya, I know him, used to be my partner. Like I said, we got burned out and moved on." Slim stored his fencing tools in his saddlebag before mounting Alamo.

"How'd you ever get mixed up with his sort?" asked Theo dubiously. "Kind like that don't settle down none; always on the move looking for the next fight."

"He didn't always. There were a few years when he was a good man, even deputized for the local law. Actually was building a good reputation and putting his gun fighting career behind him."

"You'd do well to stay away from him. He's McDougal's newest hired gun."

Slim was shocked. "McDougal? The one trying to force Marlin out?"

"That's the one. We're down over a hundred head. His damn brand fits right over ours. Changes the Circle M to a Circle Mc. Can't prove a thing unless we catch them red-handed." Theo stared at the spot where Jess was just disappearing over the horizon. Pointing in Jess' direction, he said. "I mean it Slim. He's a bad one - and mean to boot. His reputation has preceded him and even McDougal's own men give him a wide berth. Whatever he might have been to you – he ain't no more. Steer clear of him and don't let on you know him. Marlin will think you are a spy for McDougal and McDougal's men know you ride for Marlin. You'll be in a tough spot if you're ever cornered or this ever gets out." Little did either man realize how prophetic those words were.

Slim was paired with Lem the next time he was out on the range. Their job was to move the cattle closer to the homestead. Marlin didn't want his riders riding where it would be easy to jump them. There was too much cover where McDougal's men could ambush the Marlin men. Marlin knew a fight was imminent, but he didn't want his men put in unnecessary danger.

Slim and Lem were moving the cattle along nicely when a couple head decided to quit the herd and go their own way. Seeing that Lem had his hands full keeping the herd moving, Slim shouted he was going after the strays. Lem acknowledged him and reminded him to be careful. Slim followed the cows into the brush, watching for both the cattle and would be attackers. He found the troublesome critters and was headed back with them when he was knocked from his horse. Two men were on him before he could recover. They held him upright with his arms twisted behind his back. Although he struggled, they held him firm. A horse and rider approached. Slim's eyes widened in shock and surprise.

Jess grinned evilly, as he stepped down. "We meet again, Sherman. This one's mine" he said to the men. "I got a score to settle with him. It'd give me great pleasure to mess up those pretty boy looks." As he approached Slim, he pulled his gloves tighter on his hands, flexing his fingers and slapping one fist into his other hand. He watched as an emotionless Jess stopped in front of him. He didn't even see the first blow which struck his chin, snapping his head back. More blows followed it immediately. Jess' powerful fists battered his face, ribs, and abdomen. Unable to defend himself, he slowly succumbed to semi-consciousness. They let him slide to the ground where he lay unmoving. One of the men started to deliver a kick to Slim's stomach but was stopped by a heavily breathing Jess. "He's had enough. We were just to send a message, not kill him. He won't be moving for a while." Jess nudged Slim with his boot. "I owed you that, Sherman. We're even now. Take a message to your boss. Tell him this range belongs to McDougal and he intends to keep it that way." Jess wiped the sweat from his forehead before returning to his horse and mounting. Nodding to each other, the McDougal riders split up and rode their separate ways.

Slim lay where he had fallen until he couldn't hear the horses anymore. He carefully took assessment of his condition, trying to understand what had just happened. He was going to carry some serious bruises but was essentially unhurt. He knew Jess could strike with the force of a sledgehammer. Jess' blows might have looked fierce, but he had pulled his punches, protecting Slim from any serious damage – just as he had prevented them from kicking him. What was Jess up to? Jess had said he owed him. Did he owe him the pulled punches in deference to the friendship they once had? Or, did he owe Slim the beating because he had abandoned the ranch? Maybe Jess was just toying with him – playing cat and mouse to keep him off his game.

Slim slowly climbed to his feet, using a tree for support. He hurt all over but was thankful Jess hadn't hit him full force. The bruises would convince anyone who saw them that he'd received a serious beating.

By the time Slim arrived back at the herd, he was hunched over Alamo's neck. Lem abandoned the cattle, escorting Slim back to the bunkhouse. Some of the cowhands helped him down and into the building. Theo was at his side, doctoring his bruises, angry over Slim's beating. He didn't know how much longer before the range war busted wide open.

It wasn't long before the Marlin and McDougal men started shooting at each other – shooting to kill. McDougal's men were plainly visible on Marlin land as they moved hundreds of head onto the range they claimed. For every Marlin man, there were two McDougal men. As Slim had observed at the bar, McDougal's men were gun hands – paid to do whatever it took to seize the land he desired. They were ruthless in everything they did - from tearing out fences, guarding water holes and relentlessly driving more and more cattle into the valley.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nights were when the cattle went missing, yet no one seemed to catch McDougal's men in the act. No one had ever seen or found the remains of a branding fire. There was nothing linking McDougal's men to the Marlin ranch problems. Slim had drawn night watch again. He wasn't happy about that but neither were the other men who had taken their turn.

Night watch was the most dangerous. Although McDougal's men weren't shy about their daylight marauding, the night watch was the most dangerous for the men of Marlin's ranch. McDougal's men knew their craft. They knew when and how to strike without being seen. That's when the riders had gone missing, beaten and left to be found the next day. That's why it puzzled him that Jess had attacked him during the daylight – knowing he'd be recognized – leaving himself open to potential assault charges. Slim hadn't seen the faces of the other two men who held him while Jess beat him. Maybe he banked on Slim not pressing charges, unwilling to potentially expose their past history to either side of the range war. Or maybe he played on Slim's sense of guilt over the ranch debacle.

There were six riders guarding the cattle that night. They rode spread out, but within sight of each other as they circled the hundred head of cattle bedded down in Shadow Valley. Slim didn't care for the area. There were far too many places where McDougal's men could jump them – especially since there was no moon. In spite of being tired, all of the riders were on high alert, easily staying awake.

Slim felt the hairs rise at the back of his neck. He didn't know if he was over anxious or whether there was real danger to watch for. Something didn't feel right. He could still see some of the other riders semi-outlined in the darkness – so that didn't seem to be the problem. He could see something moving, a dark image he shouldn't be seeing. He was positive it was someone cutting a few cows and calves from the herd, quietly spiriting them away. He eased his horse towards the departing animals, following as their trail led further and further away from the bedded down herd. As he'd left, he'd tried to signal the other Marlin riders but suddenly found he couldn't see any of them. An ugly thought began to form – were the Marlin riders working both sides of the range war?

He continued to follow the stolen cattle until they were several miles from the Marlin herd and well onto McDougal land. It was then he could see a campfire in the distance. Its flickering flames were a stark contrast against the black night. He dismounted a safe distance away, proceeding on foot to get a look at the McDougal set up. He'd found what no one else at the ranch had been able to find – McDougal's branding site.

It was a sheltered area, surrounded by rock outcroppings and hidden behind a stand of trees. If it hadn't been for the dark night and the campfire's contrasting light, no one would have ever found it. It was a perfect place for McDougal's illicit activities. Slim eased as close to the center as he could, intent on seeing who all was involved. He heard Jess' voice before ever seeing him. It was clear Jess was in charge. The men were quick in doing his bidding – including a dozen or more of Marlin's hired hands.

Slim found it unsettling to see this side of Jess. He'd always known Jess had been a gunfighter – hiring his gun out to the highest bidder. However, he'd never seen Jess in action like this. This Jess was cold, certain – and ruthless as he spelled out his strategy for taking over the Marlin range. He was planning on a daylight raid, intent on wiping out everyone who rode for Marlin or lived at the ranch. Slim couldn't believe he was hearing Jess detailing what amounted to cold blooded killing – the extermination of a family and its ranch hands.

He slid from his hiding place, determined to reach the ranch and warn them. His foot dislodged some rocks, alerting the camp of his presence. Abandoning any attempt at silence, he ran towards where he had left Alamo tied. McDougal's men were on him almost immediately. Struggling against the men holding him, he was unceremoniously shoved into the inner circle of the camp. He landed close to the fire, feeling its heat before he rolled away.

They were on him again before he could gain his feet.

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Slim struggled against the hands restraining him as they held him down. Jess walked from the fire to stand over him.

"Tie him." Jess commanded. "We're going to make an example of him before we send him back to Marlin."

Slim fought the ropes encircling his wrists and ankles, stretching his limbs until he was tied spread eagle. He could see Jess had gone back to the fire, checking the branding irons, an ugly grin upon his face.

"Yer riding for Marlin." Jess intoned. "Well, we'll just change your brand – just like we do the calves." Then to the men he said. "Strip him." Slim felt hands grabbing at his clothes, ripping his shirt from his body, and leaving his chest and torso bare. "I told you I'd kill you, Sherman. I never said how I'd do it. There's a million ways to die. Wearing a brand is just one of them. I oughta know – I been branded an outlaw often enough - only I ain't got nothin' visible to show it." He lifted an iron from the fire, eyeing it appreciatively. "Now, a visible brand - that's somethin' else. I think you're humiliation – the way you'll die a thousand times – is to wear another man's brand – especially the one you ain't workin' for."

Horrified, Slim watched as Jess approached - the red-hot branding iron in his hand. Slim struggled against his bonds, unwilling to believe what was about to happen. He broke out in a cold sweat, his total focus on the heated instrument inching closer, and closer to his exposed chest. He fought against the ropes with all his might, hearing Jess command. "Hold him still". Unseen hands held him immobile. The stench of burning skin filled his nostrils as his body bucked under the painful onslaught and his screams filled the night air.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A confusion of sounds and disembodied voices surrounded him. He struggled against the hands holding him down.

"Hold him still!" The high-pitched voice commanded, anxiety clearly evident. His troubled mind thought it sounded like a female had spoken.

"What-do-ya think I been trying to do?" Came the gruff rebuttal.

"Jess, you've got to hold him still while I finish this."

"I'm trying, Daisy!"

"Jess, PLEASE!"

"What do ya want me to do – knock him out? He's strong as a horse and something's sure got him riled." Jess' voice was a notch higher than usual, conveying his concern. Finally, in desperation, he yelled "Slim, settle down!" He struggled to keep Slim from harming himself or Daisy.

"There, I'm all done. I'm sure that whiskey burned like fire on that open wound but it's all I had for cleaning it. He'll be okay now, you can let go."

Slim felt the pressure on his arms lessen. A cooling salve diminished the burning sensation across his chest. The voices started to register in his foggy brain. Daisy? He'd heard Daisy's voice. That wasn't possible. What was Jess doing here? There was no mistaking his deep voice. Jess had tried to kill him.

"Aunt Daisy, these are all of the bandages I could find."

Mike? Why was Mike home from school?

"That'll be fine dear. I'm sure I can find some more sheets to tear up if I need to make more."

Slim turned his head back and forth on the pillow, trying to understand the burning pain across his chest and the voices surrounding him. He just couldn't swim through the fog clouding his mind. He felt a soft hand stroke his cheek before brushing his hair off his forehead. It rested on his shoulder, lending comfort. "Relax, Slim. Take it easy. You're home, in your own bed. Everything is okay." It was Daisy's 'nurse' voice - the one she used after averting a crisis and wanting to re-assure everyone – including herself.

"Daisy? Jess?" Slim mumbled, still agitated and uncomprehending, unwilling to open his eyes; afraid he was imagining the trusted voices.

He lifted a hand to feel whatever was causing the pain. A calloused hand gripping his gently arrested the movement. "We're here, Pard. You're hurt but you'll be just fine. Don't worry about anything. You rest for now, that's all that's important." It was Jess' voice; his familiar cooing tone – like when he was working with a frightened animal, comforting to Slim's troubled mind.

"How bad?" Slim asked trying to swim out of the fog trapping his mind and memory.

"Never mind that for now. You need to rest." Came Daisy's voice.

Slim frowned, his face showing his confusion as he tried to reconcile his conflicting thoughts and memories. He felt himself being drawn back into the serenity of darkness.

Daisy turned from Slim's bedside. Jess was now standing with his back to her, slightly hunched over, cradling his arms against his stomach. One look at the way his muscles flexed as he tried to control his breathing and she immediately knew what had happened. In his nightmarish struggles, Slim had grabbed onto Jess' bandaged forearms, his strong grip digging into Jess' tender, healing skin. She went to him, putting an arm around him for support, the other gently cradling his damaged arms for him.

"Come along, Jess, dear. Let me see if I can't make you a little more comfortable."

Jess turned his head away, unwilling to let her see the pain written in his facial features, yet allowed her to shepherd him to a seat at the dining table. Blood had soaked through one of the bandages. Jess stared at the ceiling, battling to keep the pain-filled tears at bay, as Daisy unwrapped his arm, applied a soothing ointment, and rewrapped it again for him. Looking at his re-bandaged arm, he flexed his hand and fingers. "He didn't mean to do it, Daisy. He ain't thinkin' clear 'tis all. He hit his head pretty hard when that beam fell – not to mention he's got to be hurting pretty bad too."

Daisy rubbed a comforting hand back and forth across Jess' shoulders. "I know, dear. We'll just have to be patient with him."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

He regained consciousness slowly, almost wishing he didn't have to face the reality of his best friend trying to kill him; of a brand burned into his chest – a scar he'd carry for the rest of his life. Surely he had dreamt hearing Daisy's voice – it must have been another woman he'd heard. His chest hurt but he could feel the bandages encompassing it. Marlin's men must have found him and brought him back to be cared for. He wasn't in his bunk; he didn't know where he was. He tried to remember how he had gotten back to the ranch. McDougal's men couldn't have left him staked to the ground – no one would have found him. Perhaps one of Marlin's double crossing men had brought him back with some tall tale of finding him out on the range in this condition. He couldn't remember anything beyond seeing the branding iron descend upon his body. Even the memory of it caused him pain and his body to react. He didn't want to open his eyes; didn't want to face anyone or see their pity for what Jess had done to him. Still not fully conscious he fought the conflicting memories causing his head to hurt.

Somewhere, someone was telling him to calm down. Hands once again gripped his shoulders, pinning him to the bed, stopping his anguished attempts to escape the pain and his memories. He opened his eyes only to see Jess standing over him – holding him down. Jess was carrying out his threat - trying to kill him! His flailing hand brushed the water pitcher on the stand next to his bed. He grabbed the handle, swinging it full force against Jess' head. There was a crash as the pitcher broke, followed by the thud of a body falling to the floor. Now fully awake, Slim leaped from his bed. Blind rage overtook Slim as he knelt and placed his hands around Jess' neck, intent on squeezing the life out of his former partner, retaliation for the beating and branding done to him.

Suddenly there was a weight upon his back. Someone was screaming for him to leave Jess alone, someone who was calling out to his or her Aunt Daisy. Small hands pounded on him, begging him to stop. Slim reached behind him and easily dislodged his new assailant, tossing him against the wall. A child's wail penetrated Slim's confused mind. He looked up to see Mike cradling his left arm, cowering against the bureau. The fear in Mike's eyes brought Slim to his senses. He reached out to Mike, only to have his ward shrink back away from his touch.

"Mike." Slim pleaded. "Mike, I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me."

"You were hurting Jess." Mike cried out accusingly, wiping tears from his face. "You gotta stop, Slim. You gotta stop." Tears falling freely, he curled himself into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible; trying to understand how his beloved guardians could be at such odds with one another.

Slim crawled over to where Mike cowered, gently lifting the boy onto his lap and hugging him. His head against Mike's he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Mike. So sorry. Please forgive me. Please. I couldn't stand it if you were mad at me."

Mike wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve. Nodding to Slim, he pushed to his feet just as Daisy entered the room. Seeing Mike's tears, she demanded to know what the ruckus was, gasping when Mike pointed to the prone Jess. She immediately encompassed Mike in her loving arms, checking him over before suggesting he should go check on his critters outdoors as she and Slim needed to have a little talk. Mike looked from Slim to Daisy and back before deciding he didn't want to be included in this particular discussion. He knew Daisy was about to "read the riot act" to Slim and wanted no part of it.

Daisy knelt to examine Jess as Mike closed the outside door behind him. Slim scrambled to his feet, still confused and seemingly unaware he was only partially dressed. Daisy stood up at the same time. Ignoring his attire,Daisy lit into him.

"Slim Sherman, what has gotten into you?" She may have been considerably shorter than Slim, but she was right up in his face, shaking her finger at him, the other hand on her hip. "How dare you act like that in this house?" There was no mistaking her anger and she wasn't going to be appeased easily.

"Jess is leaving." Was all Slim said.

"What do you mean he's leaving? Why?"

"Because the son-of . . . "he stopped before he swore in front of Daisy. "Because he swore to kill me – that's why. I wasn't about to give him the opportunity. He's leaving all right. In deference to the boy, I won't kill him but he's off this place as soon as he's conscious."

"Jess? Jess threatened to kill you? When? Why?" Her confusion was obvious.

"In Santa Fe – we were on opposite sides over the range war. And I ain't never going to forgive him for this" Slim said as he ripped the bandages from his chest. "I don't take to being branded like a calf. He has to pay for that." Daisy stared at Slim dumbfounded, both hands covering her mouth in surprise. It was a few moments before she spoke. When she did, it was calmly, making sure she had his attention.

"Slim, you haven't been to Santa Fe in years. Yes, it's true you're burned, but it isn't a brand. I don't know where you got that idea. A beam hit you when the lean-to burned. Jess pulled you out. He was burned too." She took his arm and gently turned him towards the mirror. "Look Slim. Look at your burn. It's from the beam not a branding iron."

Slim looked at his reflection in the mirror, gingerly touching the red mark crossing his chest. He turned a full circle, taking in the familiar walls, the window, the furniture, the beds, and the room. He was home – in his own room - his and Jess' room. Mike and Daisy were still with him. His knees went weak as a blinding headache struck him. He grabbed the bureau for support. Daisy was at his side in an instant, leading him back to sit upon his bed.

Jess had stood up by then, groaning slightly and holding his own head, trying to shake off the headache he was experiencing. "Dad gum, Slim, what the tarnation's gotten into you?"

For the first time, Slim looked at Jess, really seeing him – not the nightmarish monster in his memory. It was then he noticed the white bandages peeking out from under Jess' rolled up sleeves. Jess had been burned? How? No, it wasn't possible. Jess had been on the other side of the range war. Jess had burned him. But the burn on his own chest – it wasn't a cattle brand. It had been one long scorch mark.

Slim's head jerked up, confusion clearly written in his features and his eyes. One hand to his pounding head, he levered himself onto his feet. He pushed past both Jess and Daisy, pulling open the front door and staggering outside. He stared at the porch roof, amazed it was intact and where it belonged. One hand still held to his head, he used the other to support himself as he crossed the walkway and stepped barefoot into the front yard. Mouth open in amazement, he slowly spun around in a circle, taking in everything – the house, barn and corrals. They were all there, all in perfect condition. The shower unit still stood as it has always done. The house was undamaged. The only thing missing was the lean-to which had housed the blacksmith's forge. The still smoldering remains lay in a blackened heap safely away from the barn or anything that might burn if it should re-ignite.

He remembered! He remembered Jess had been shoeing their new filly when she had decided she wanted none of it. She'd thrown a horse's equivalent of a temper tantrum. The danged animal had kicked over the forge and caught the lean-to on fire. He'd run to help Jess put the fire out when a burning beam fell, pinning him to the ground. He remembered feeling the intense heat penetrate his leather vest as he lie dazed and helpless. Jess had acted quickly, levering the smoldering beam off him. He remembered then; remembered how Jess had pulled him from the lean-to before collapsing himself, smoke rolling off the sleeves on his forearms.

Both Jess and Daisy were beside him now. He turned to Jess in wonderment. With both hands, he felt Jess' face, neck, and shoulders before Jess brushed his hands away with a growl. Joyously, he turned and repeated the procedure on Daisy before wrapping her in his arms. "You're here. You're here." He repeated. "I thought you were gone." He sobbed. Still clasping Daisy to himself, he reached a hand back to rest on Jess's shoulder, assuring himself Jess was standing by his side. "It was so real. It was gone. Everything was gone." Tearfully he looked around him again, reassuring himself it hadn't disappeared.

Jess stared at Slim in consternation. "Dang, Daisy, I think he's more concussed than we thought. We'd better get him back inside." Then he turned to support Slim as he seemed to weaken. "Come on, Pard. Let's get you back to bed. You ain't exactly dressed to be in mixed company."

Slim readily agreed, realizing he was clad only in the bottom half of his long johns. It only took a few minutes for Daisy to re-wrap Slim's chest burn before settling him back into bed. He was still confused about the turn of events and his head pounded so bad he expected it to fall off his shoulders. He gratefully swallowed the medication Daisy offered, allowing himself to fall back to sleep. Only, this time there were no nightmares, comforted by the knowledge he was home and slept in his own bed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The sun was shining through the curtains the next time Slim awoke. He opened his eyes to see Jess asleep in the chair next to his bed. He watched Jess, trying to sort out the conflicting thoughts and images swirling around his mind. First, he saw Jess's face before him, his face a grotesque mask. There was something red between them, something glowing – and he felt the heat radiating off it, burning him. The branding iron – no it was the beam – the beam that had knocked him to the ground and lay across his chest, leaving him helpless and semi-conscious. Then Jess had been there, somehow single-handedly moving the smoldering beam off him; getting himself burned in the process. That was the face Slim had seen in his dream – Jess' concentration and determination to move that beam, heedless of the danger and damage to himself.

He turned his head to see Jess watching him, relief clearly visible in his dark eyes.

"Welcome back, pard."

Slim grinned in spite of himself. "Good to be back." He placed a hand against his forehead then brushed his hair from his face before dropping back to the bed beside him.

"How long was I out?"

"You had us worried. You been out a good long time, well, except for yesterday and I'm still not too sure what that was. You were plum loco, that's for sure."

Slim nodded. "Feel like I been rode hard and put up wet." He answered, referencing an old cowboy saying.

Jess nodded his understanding.

"Do I hear voices in here?" Came a cheery inquiry from Daisy.

"Look who decided to join us!" Grinned Jess, nodding at Slim.

Slim smiled at Daisy while Daisy positively beamed in happiness knowing her boys were going to be just fine. It was only a few seconds later before Mike and Buttons careened into the room. Seeing Slim was awake and both him and Jess not at each other's throats, he forgot himself and leaped onto Slim's bed. He threw himself across Slim's chest, hugging him elatedly while Buttons ran back and forth around the bed barking.

"Mike, please, be careful, you'll hurt Slim." Cautioned a flustered Daisy, although she didn't use her scolding voice.

Slim was grinning ear to ear; happy Mike had forgiven him and was no longer afraid. He gladly endured the pressure on his burned chest as he hugged the child.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Daisy made Slim stay in bed for the rest of the day. The next morning she reluctantly allowed him to be dressed and come to the breakfast table. He absent mindedly ran a hand over the bandage across his chest. He was still trying to understand his conflicting memories. Obviously, the homestead was undamaged and Daisy and Mike were home where they belonged. He'd viewed the burn again – it was obviously not a cattle brand. He now knew that much of his dream was false. He also figured out that Jess hadn't been trying to kill him. But what about Jess? Jess was supposed to be off selling some cattle in order to pay the overdue mortgage. Slim wanted to ask Jess about the money and maybe even get a chance to go over the books. He needed to figure out what was real and what had been his dream. However, he didn't get a chance to do so, as immediately after breakfast he began to get very drowsy. Jess helped him back to bed where he slept peacefully until suppertime.

Dr. Hansen was at his bedside when he awoke. He suffered through the doctor's questions, answering as best he could and even admitted his confusion determining what was real or had been a really, really, bad dream.

Dr. Hansen listened, nodding wisely. Taking a deep breath, he offered his diagnosis. "Slim, you're overworked. When was the last time you took a vacation?"

"A vacation? Who has time for a vacation? I've got a ranch to run. You don't get vacations when you're running a ranch."

"Slim, you've got a severe concussion. That, along with your injury was a shock to your system. That's what caused the hallucinations – or the dream as you put it." He put his instruments back in his bag. "If you don't take a vacation – and I mean a real vacation – you are liable to suffer a serious mental and physical collapse. You can't keep up the pace you've been setting. Everyone needs some down time. When was the last time you even took a day off to go fishing?"

Slim thought for a moment, realizing he didn't remember the last time he'd gone fishing or swimming – or anything besides working day in and day out on the ranch.

"Uh ha," said the doctor. "I thought so. Daisy." He said turning to her. "I'm prescribing two weeks away from the ranch - a real vacation for this young man." Turning, he nodded at Jess. "A vacation won't hurt you any, either. You both have worked yourselves to exhaustion and need a mental break as well as time for those burns to heal. "

Silencing Slim's protest, Daisy said she'd see to it. The doctor had barely driven off before she was making plans for the neighbor boys to cover the ranch and figuring out where she was going to send Slim and Jess for their vacation. She had already decided to take Mike with her and take the opportunity to visit her sister in Cheyenne.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Slim's arguments against taking a vacation fell upon deaf ears. Daisy already had stage and train tickets purchased and was about to depart on the noon stage for her own vacation. She had already instructed the William's boys to make sure both Slim and Jess caught the three o'clock train to Medicine Bow – even if they had to hog tie the pair to get them out of Laramie.

Slim watched as Jess dropped a rope over the horns of a cow he needed to deliver to the neighbor's ranch. A disgruntled Jess had unhappily and loudly grumbled over having to do the task, figuring it could have been left to one of the William's boys to do. He'd minced no words at the necessity of delivering the cow this very minute, muttering that Slim "was gonna pay for it". Now, he wanted to get there and back so he could clean up to leave that afternoon. Unlike the vacation adverse Slim, he was more than ready for a well-earned break.

With Daisy busy and Jess delivering cattle, Slim took the opportunity to sit at his desk and go over the books. As he expected, things were really tight. The mortgage payment would be coming due shortly. Laying on his desk were several bills that needed paying. His stomach began to churn with worry.

Perhaps that was why he wasn't paying attention when bringing one of the stage horses out of the corral. One of the other horses got aggressive, resulting in a kicking match. Somewhere in the middle of the melee, a hoof caught Slim in the thigh. His leg started to swell. He knew he'd have a nasty bruise there later.

He was pitching hay down from the loft when the pitch fork handle broke, almost tumbling him to the floor below. He'd pushed the wagon back into place alongside the barn, only to have the tongue slip out of his hands, landing on his foot. Just as he was cussing a blue streak, the mustang in the corral started kicking up a fuss. Slim looked around him, starting to have a sense of déjà vu. The mustang was still causing trouble as Slim strode purposefully across the yard calling out.

"Daisy! Daisy, are our bags packed? We got a train to catch!"

THE END


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